


All the Time in the World

by glorious_spoon



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: He’s speaking his native tongue, which besides them perhaps a handful of scholars would understand anymore. Nicky rarely hears it outside of the bedroom; it’s possible that he’s beginning to develop something of a conditioned response.Beginning,as if Joe begging for him in that tone hasn’t been his undoing since the very start.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 48
Kudos: 776





	All the Time in the World

**Author's Note:**

> This is just absolutely shameless smutty fluff, because let's be honest these guys really deserved it after everything that happened in the movie.

After London, after Booker is gone to his century alone and Andy has dragged Nile off to somewhere in the Caucasus, after everything, Nicky and Joe go back to Tabarka.

It’s the first time in a hundred years or so that they’ve been here, and they spend the first day, as they usually do, wandering through streets and marketplaces that have turned just a little strange, cataloging the changes. In other moods and other places Nicky might feel wistful about it, but here it feels like something of a game, especially with Joe laughing easily and keeping pace with him as they wander down the waterfront with the sun coming across the sea and the tall rocks casting deep shadows on the sand. Joe has dispensed with his usual baseball cap and all weapons save a small pistol at the base of his spine, which Nicky only knows is there from long familiarity; it isn’t visible under the loose linen shirt he’s wearing.

“You look like an old man,” he says fondly, and Joe cuts him a smile, his black curls tousled in the wind.

“We are old men,” he retorts, bumping his shoulder against Nicky’s while they watch an elderly couple make their slow, careful way up the steps. The man holds out a knotted hand for his hijabi companion to grasp. They’re bent and aged, and they could be Nicky’s grandchildren a few dozen generations removed. It isn’t usually the sort of thing he considers anymore, but this has been a week for consideration. Joe’s smile takes on an edge that says he knows that. That he isn’t about to let it lie forever. Joe has always been the one to find words for these things. “Both of us.”

“That’s true,” Nicky says agreeably. “In any case, as an old man, I find myself in need of an afternoon nap.”

“Really. And do you intend to do any sleeping during this nap?”

Nicky grins at him as they start back toward the hotel. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to do it alone.”

“How fortunate,” Joe says, keeping pace with him, “that I also find myself in need of a nap.”

“How fortunate indeed.”

* * *

Their hotel has a balcony that overlooks the sea, an expensive extravagance that’s mostly of use now for the salt breeze coming in and drying the sweat on their skin. Nicky certainly isn’t paying any attention to the view when he has Joe spread out on the broad bed with his hands twisting in the sheets and his voice ragged.

“Nicolo, please, please, I need you, I need—”

He’s speaking his native tongue, which besides them perhaps a handful of scholars would understand anymore. Nicky rarely hears it outside of the bedroom; it’s possible that he’s beginning to develop something of a conditioned response.

 _Beginning_ , as if Joe begging for him in that tone hasn’t been his undoing since the very start.

“I have you,” he murmurs in the same language, leaning down to suck a mark under Joe’s ear and feeling him shiver. “I have you, my love.”

There’s an edge of laughter in Joe’s voice. “Of course you do. But are you planning on having me sometime _tonight_? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“Hmm.” Nicky presses his fingers back in, crooking them just _so_ to make Joe’s laughter turn into a choked moan. “And I was just thinking that we have all the time in the world.”

Joe curses, rolling his head against the pillow as Nicky keeps fucking him with three fingers and merciless slowness. He runs his free hand over Joe’s strong shoulders, his back, feeling the speeding drumbeat of his heart as Nicky works him to the edge, then backs off. Again and again. He’s hard, his cock dragging against Joe’s bare hip every time he moves, but it feels like an afterthought. At least until Joe shifts beneath him and says breathlessly, “If you don’t get around to fucking me soon, I’m going to roll you over and do it myself.”

Nicky allows himself to imagine that: Joe straddling him, head thrown back, sweat sliding down the column of his throat and one hand working his cock as he chases his pleasure with that lovely, shameless single-mindedness that Nicky will never tire of. It’s enough to make his breath catch in his throat, but that’s not what tonight is about.

“So impatient,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out and reaching for the bottle he left conveniently near at hand to slick himself up.

“I’m not the sniper here.”

There’s a joke to be found in there somewhere, but Nicky is entirely too distracted at the moment to track it down. Distracted by the feel of Joe’s body and the taste of his skin and the lovely, familiar little swallowed noise he makes when Nicky presses into him. It’s slow, relentlessly slow. They’ve fucked rough and hard and frantic before and they’ll do it again, but this is as slow and sweet as Nicky can make it, and Joe, for all of his impatience earlier, doesn’t push now. He’s pliant in Nicky’s hands, one arm braced against the bed, the other reaching back to grasp at Nicky’s hip; his thigh. He lets loose a string of profanity when Nicky reaches down to pull at his cock with light, lingering strokes, his spine going liquid. Nicky, who was expecting this reaction, catches him with an arm across his chest when he starts to collapse, pulling Joe back into his lap and driving up into him as Joe tilts his head back against his shoulder and punctuates the bites he leaves on Nicky’s throat with curses and praise in a long-dead tongue.

Nicky can feel the world pulling apart around him, slow and warm, the strain in his thighs and the drag of Joe’s hair against his cheek, heat pooling at the base of his spine as his orgasm rolls over him. Joe leans back against him, chest heaving as Nicky gasps into his hair, then kisses his jaw, his mouth, and brings their joined hands down together to finish Joe off as well. They sink down to the mattress together, murmuring endearments in between misaimed kisses and laughter.

It’s several minutes before Nicky manages to pull away, soothing Joe’s wordless noise of complaint with a kiss. In the bathroom, he soaks a cloth in warm water; they’ll have a proper shower together later, which like as not will be derailed in exactly this direction, but at least for now they can clean up enough to sleep.

Joe has an arm flung over his face when Nicky comes back out, and he speaks without moving it. “You know, I do find myself in need of a nap after all.”

Nicky allows himself a grin. “Then I consider my job well done.”

“There’s no need to sound so smug.”

“On the contrary.” He settles on the edge of the bed, running the cloth over Joe’s skin, following the tracks of the water as it pools beneath him. Joe cracks one eye to look up at him, playfully indignant.

“I’m not sleeping in the wet spot.”

“It’s a big bed.” Nicky cleans himself off as well, then flops onto the dry part of the mattress, opening his arms so that Joe can curl against him, savoring the familiar weight and warmth of his body, the scratch of his beard and the smell of sex and sweat still lingering on his skin. Joe huffs laughter, then settles.

“All the time in the world, huh?” he asks, and Nicky nuzzles the crook of his neck, then kisses him.

“Yes,” he says. “Each other, and all the time in the world.”

“And you call me a hopeless romantic,” Joe murmurs, but Nicky can feel the shape of his smile.


End file.
